I immediately handed the rifle to the guard and made three or four steps back. The bolt cracked. He aimed. A black eye of the muzzle nearly touched me. Through the slit I saw a human eye. And the death was in it. Stillness. I suppose nobody thinks in such situation. But a kind of thought flashed: Don't waver! Preserve the dignity! But here the muzzle hoisted and the butt bumped on the ground.
«Luckily for you,» the guard said slowly and softly, «I saw you washing the floor in our barracks with the blooded hands.»
I do not know how it happens that all the failures turn out to be my rescue. Once again I remembered cart-man Kravchenko back on the Ob, «Someone strongly prays for you, Frosya!» Probably strongly...